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| (c) Lucy Fisher http://www.flickr.com/photos/37553027@N02/ |
The sky
hung heavy with the threat of rain, whilst below, on grey November
streets, a pale figure paced.
Just £20
a week, two weeks behind, his life had been placed on a skip. He
shivered, waiting for eye to eye contact.
“This
-“ he shed his sweater and threw it to the pavement. “- is my
home!”
The nearby
bus queue shuffled as the wind lashed his naked chest.
“I
have nothing. No place to go.”
The queue
looked on.
“Nothing!
Not a thing.”
A blue
rinse tutted.
He sank
into a corner, and rained tears, invisible.
The bus
queue shuffled.
Do
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